After Effect
by writersmoon
Summary: John obviously hasn't been the same since the fall, despite the smile. Sherlock also hasn't been the same since the fall. Together they'll end up finding out it's effects on the other. I suppose you could say Johnlock, or it might contain Johnlock in the future, just don't say I didn't put up a warning. T for safty
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Sherlock, if I did we would have a Season Three by now. **

**This is just an idea of what might happen after the fall. ****This is my first Sherlock fic that I have actually written down, so the characters might not be perfect.**

******Enjoy!**

* * *

"Good evening John!" Mrs. Hudson greeted as she was heading out.

"Mrs. Hudson," John replied with a smile. They engaged in a quick conversation, with Mrs. Hudson telling him she would be out late. John smiled and waved as she hurried off. As soon as the door shut the smile ran from his face, and he began to look tired.

He limped up the stairs leaning against the door to the flat as he shut it, his leg giving slightly. He reached out and grabbed the cane he stored close to the door, hidden by the jackets in front of it. He limped in to the kitchen; scientific tools littered the room, from the top they looked clean but the dust around their bases showed how unused they were.

John leaned on his cane as he fixed a pot of tea. It had become sort of a secret, he mused. He didn't have to use at as first, his attention trained on clearing, well clearing _his _name. He hadn't noticed it until he had cleared it, with the help of Mycroft.

After that his days became empty, no longer having to run around London, facing criminals, or trying to get _him _to stop keeping toes and heads in the refrigerator. So he got another job, everyday he worked from 8 in the morning to 8 at night. John sighed as his tea was finished. He limped over to the sofa, the same sad look on his face.

The flat hadn't changed, everything was more or less still in the same place _he_ had left it. The skull still resided on the mantel place, but was given a weekly dusting. John suspected that Mrs. Hudson came up to the flat and dusted everything once a week, he knew he hadn't. He sighed stretching out on the sofa, much like the way _he _used to. It had become a routine, he would come home fix a pot of tea and then lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling lost in his own thoughts until he fell asleep. He rarely posted anything on his blog, even at his therapist's urging.

No one would have guessed that John was depressed, or still depressed. He went to work with a smile; he was friendly to his patients and his coworkers. On occasion he would go out for drinks, but not on dates. He had stopped going on those the day, well the day _he _left. His smile fooled many, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and anyone else he happened to see on his rare visits to the police station.

John assumed Mycroft knew, hell, he had probably even seen his case file. He knew that Mycroft had probably seen her notes. _Is still in denial, he doesn't believe that Sherlocke is dead even if he says it. Claims to have spoken with him. _

He never mentioned that again, probably do to the medication she had subscribed him to 'take' whenever he 'saw' Sherlock. Not that he listened, he found him helpful. He stared at the ceiling running his newest ideas. Trying to figure out an idea of how _he_ survived. He had spent about a month going through Sherlock's own website, trying to pick up any hints or ways to figure it out.

He began to wonder if it wasn't Sherlock who hit the ground, he hadn't been able to accompany his body anywhere, much to his protest. He instead went up to the roof top. Where he found Moriarty, who he angrily kicked him, he had even thought for a moment of throwing him over the side of the building. It was the first time he saw Sherlock.

_"Don't be daft," Sherlock had said. John spun to see the tall man. "Toss him over the side and no one will believe it was suicide." He said moving to stand up on the ledge._

_ "So you didn't jump," John smiled. Sherlock turned to look at him._

_ "You'll just have to figure it out," Sherlock said with a cocky grin. With a quick back he stepped over the edge. _

_ "Sherlock!" John yelled hurrying over to look over the ledge. He stared in disbelieve at the empty area below. _

John supposed that was why he was hung up on trying to figure it out. Sherlock had appeared in odd moments, occasionally offering bits of advice. John found it quite comforting, his therapist didn't. John sighed sipping his now cold tea.

He shifted through thoughts and ideas. He had run his first idea into the ground, but almost all the other ideas sounded crazy. John had watched Sherlock as he fell, making it impossible for them to pull him into the building and tossing a look alike out. Sherlock hitting the pavement would make it harder to identify, so maybe a different person, in Sherlock's clothing jumped. It was a closed casket funeral.

John sighed looking at the clock. 11:30 and he still hadn't fallen asleep. He turned back to the ceiling. Maybe Sherlock did jump, John's thoughts stopped. He isn't dead, John snapped at himself.

"John," The familiar deep voice greeted.

"Sherlock," John replied still staring at the ceiling. "Let me guess-," He said stopping as he turned to look at him. "Sherlock?" He asked stun, sitting up.

This Sherlock was different then the other Sherlock's he had seen. He was leaning on a cane, his hair was longer than normal, and instead of his usual scarf, coat, and suit, he wore dusty work clothes. John noticed that he looked slightly nervous.

"John," Sherlock said again. "I'm not dead," He added awkwardly.

"I," John said pausing standing up. He warily reached out his hand collided with Sherlock, instead of gliding through. "I can see that," He swallowed. He hand still on Sherlock's chest. "Sorry," He added returning his arm to his side. "Tea?" He asked trying to break the silence.

"Sounds nice," Sherlock smiled awkwardly. He sat down on the sofa, he was home. He looked over at John, he didn't realize how much he had missed looking over and seeing the man. He eyed the cane John was leaning on, he had hoped John's limp wouldn't return. At the same time he was glad it did, it meant that the army doctor needed Sherlock as much as Sherlock needed him.

"Right then," John replied grabbing his own cane. John poured himself another cup and fixed Sherlock's. "Here you go," He said handing it to Sherlock. Sherlock and sipped it.

"Perfect," He commented catching John off guard.

"What you couldn't get a nice cup of tea where ever you went?" John laughed.

"It wasn't a priority," Sherlock replied.

"Where did you go?" John asked curiously.

"I was hunting down Moriarty's web," Sherlock replied. "And I've finally finished," He added.

"I thought Moriarty's web collapsed with him," John stated. Sherlock shook his head.

"It was more of reinforcement," Sherlock replied carefully.

"And you jumping, what did that have to do with anything?" John continued.

"Moriarty killed himself so that I would have to jump to save you from the assassins," Sherlock replied simply, trying not to set John off. He was quite shocked that the army doctor hadn't punched him. He had been expecting it, counting on it almost. For a second, the idea that his Watson had changed ran across his mind, and for some odd reason it frightened him.

"You did that for me?" John asked shocked.

"Well, you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade," Sherlock replied his cheeks becoming hot.

"Thank you then," John commented his mind wrapping around the idea that Sherlock had jumped to save him.

"You aren't angry?" Sherlock blurted out before he could stop himself. "I did make you believe I was dead." He added. John stared at him.

"No you didn't," John replied quietly staring into his empty tea cup. "Have you told anyone else?" He said moving on. Sherlock shook his head.

"Mycroft always knew," Sherlock replied. "He promised he would keep an eye on you," He added. "And Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade," He added quickly.

"How did you do it?" John suddenly asked, catching Sherlock off guard.

"Do what?' Sherlock questioned.

"The jump," John stated. "I've been trying to figure it out, but none of my ideas make any sense, except that you actually jumped." Sherlock said nothing for a moment.

"I jumped," He replied. "We slowed down the jump enough to prevent death, and then I recovered."

"And then went after Moriarty's web," John connected. Sherlock nodded. John timed out a normal persons recovery time, and then figured in Sherlock's stubbornness. "I would have helped," He commented his finger rubbing a small circle on his cup.

"No you couldn't have," Sherlock replied. John's eyes snapped up.

"Sherlock, I was in the damn army! I have had an assassination attempt before," John snapped. "I think I could have helped take down hired guns! Hell, if you told me I probably could have protected myself without having you jump off a damn building." He continued.

"John these were more then hired guns," Sherlock commented. "And there were other factors," He added.

"I am not useless," John commented.

"I never said you were," Sherlock protested.

"You didn't have to, you just left," John replied. "I suddenly had no one; my entire life was wrapped up in your world. Then you left, and my connection to my life was gone," He snapped.

"Don't think that you were the only one who lost their connection," Sherlock snapped back. John sat back for a moment. "You have people at your work place to go to, I don't. I was dead John," He continued. Both of them stared at each other in silence.

"Then it is agreed, no more dying without telling each other." John replied. "And that includes disappearing from the other's life." He added with a sigh.

"Agreed," Sherlock said with a small smile. He was rejoicing inwardly, he had his only friend back.

* * *

**As for my thoughts, I started to wonder if John would be angry at Sherlock for being alive, and I came up with no. My thoughts were that he would be angry for Sherlock not asking him to help taking down the web. There are some other thoughts that I might be putting into later chapters. However, Sherlock's cane probably isn't what you think it is. **

** To be the annoying person, reviews might cause it to be finished and posted faster.**

** I hope you enjoyed it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sherlock is not mine!**

**So a next chapter, might be a bit boring and cheesy, I'm not very good at doing the whole emotion thing. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock awoke the next morning on his sofa. His sofa, he reminded himself with a smile. _So it wasn't a dream, _an irrational part his brain murmured. _Of course it wasn't a dream, I don't dream._ He replied.

He sat up and looked around. John was awkwardly a sleep in his chair. Sherlock stared at him for a moment. He vaguely remembered John and himself talking through the night, neither of them wanting leave.

"Sherlock," John commented sleepily. "So that wasn't a dream," He added. "Wait, what time is it?" He asked jumping up. "7:00, I have to get to work by 8:00," He hissed. "Sorry Sherlock, I'm in surgery today."

"Perfectly reasonable," Sherlock replied watching John quickly getting ready.

"I'll be back around 8," John commented to Sherlock as he stashed his cane behind the coats. "I'll bring Chinese," He added with a wave dashing out the door.

Sherlock stared at the door for a moment. It had made perfect sense, of course John would be working, he did have to make rent somehow. It wasn't like he had a case; he doubted he should take one right away. He stood up and made his way through the flat, it felt different leaning on the cane. For a moment he wondered if it was how John felt.

Surprisingly everything was more or less still in the same place, except the parts of the ongoing experiments he had left. Those could be picked up again after a trip to the morgue. He stepped into his room to find it almost as he left it. The exception of his violin case that was set neatly on his bed.

Sherlock fingers itched to play it. He reached out tucking the violin under his chin. He played a soft note expecting it to be out of tune. He smiled shifting into a scale and then into a song. He stopped after playing through several selections. He set it back in its case when he caught sight of himself in a mirror.

He hadn't necessarily been avoiding them; he just had more important things to worry about. He moved over to the mirror. He was hauntingly reminded of staring in the mirror in the white rehab center. He quickly shook the image from his head and headed for the shower.

Once the finally dust of Sherlock's mission was long gone he stepped out of the shower. He quickly located John's razor and shaved off the 5 o'clock shadow he had obtained after several months. He stepped out the bathroom and hurried back to his room. He opened his closet and stared at his suits. He quickly dressed in his favorite suit and stepped in front of the mirror again. He smiled at his reflection and stepped out of his room.

Sherlock looked at the clock to see only three hours had passed. _I wonder how flammable John's jams are, _he thought casually. He flipped the cupboard open and was met with two pill bottles. Curiously he read the labels. _An anti-depressant and an anti-psychotic, _Sherlock thought. _Why is he still on the depressant? _ He questioned. His mind couldn't even think up a reason to why the anti-psychotic was there.

"You're doctor isn't as fine as he tries to appear," Mycroft commented causing Sherlock to jump. "I suppose you could say he is 'damaged' goods."

"Mycroft," Sherlock greeted coldly. He had never liked the term 'damaged' goods, and he didn't like Mycroft using it on his doctor.

"You'll find receipts in recycling," Mycroft gestured with his umbrella. "Every Saturday he'd visit your grave with flowers." He added returning to leaning on his umbrella. "I suggest you be careful with him." He added tossing a file onto the table. Sherlock could read John's name off it from where he stood.

"I don't need to read John's file," Sherlock snorted. Mycroft smiled.

"Then at listen to this dear brother," Mycroft commented. "I don't think he could survive you leaving again." He said slowly and clearly. "Good day brother," He finished turning and leaving.

Sherlock stared where his brother had stood for a moment, listening to his bothers steps on the stairs. His gaze fell on the file, he knew reading the file would be revealing, but he dreaded the idea of John finding out. Finally, despite his morbid curiosity he grabbed the file strode into the living room and tossed the file into the fire.

He watched the file curl up in the flames. He sighed flopping onto the couch, feeling the boredom creep in. In some ways it was a comforting feeling, at the same time he was becoming bored. His ears perked up when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked holding her dusting rag to her chest.

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson," He smiled.

* * *

John rolled his neck as he left work. Usually he felt tired and melancholy, but today for obvious reasons, he was quite glad. Even the black car waiting for him didn't dampen his mood. He nodded to the driver who had opened the door and slipped into the car.

"John," Anthea greeted.

"Yup," He replied with a nod. "So where am I headed today?" He asked. Anthea said nothing. John sighed looking out the window. It wasn't long before the car was stopped in front of a closed café. John stepped out of the car, following the driver's gesture into the café.

"Mycroft," John greeted.

"John, have a cupcake." Mycroft replied gesturing for John to sit down. "I see my brother has returned to 221b Baker Street." He added.

"Indeed he has," John replied with a smile. It fell slightly as Mycroft stared at him.

"My brother isn't the same person who jumped off that building," Mycroft warned his hand falling onto a file. He pushed it towards John. John read Sherlock's name off of it. "I suppose you could say he is 'damaged' goods."

"I don't need to read his file," John replied pushing it back to him, a cupcake falling off the pile and landing icing down. "And I don't care if he is 'damaged' goods, Sherlock is still Sherlock." He added. Mycroft gave a slight laugh. "Did I say something funny?"

"It is strange, my brother said almost the same thing," Mycroft replied.

"Same thing?" John asked confused.

"I gave him your file, and he burnt it to a crisp." Mycroft replied. "It would seem that Sherlock is trusting you. I suggest you be careful with him." He added.

"I have some Chinese to pick up," John replied standing, not sure what Mycroft wanted him to do with this information.

"I've already picked it up for you," Mycroft said waving his hand, and John was handed a bag from John and Sherlock's favorite take out.

"Ah well, thank you," John commented.

"Keep an eye on my brother will you?" Mycroft asked. John nodded leaving.

John slipped back into the car. Mycroft's 'chats' usually confused John, but this one more than normal. He hardly noticed that the car had stopped until the driver had opened the door. He nodded in thanks and hurried up the stairs.

"Sherlock, I'm back," John called out reaching the flat.

"John excellent," Sherlock said eyeing the take out. "And you remembered the Chinese." He added.

"Actually your brother gave it to me," John replied.

"Ah," Sherlock said turning. "Did he offer you my file?" He asked.

"Did he offer you mine?" John replied.

"I didn't read it," Sherlock replied.

"You burnt it to a crisp," John smiled. "And I didn't read yours." He added, he noticed how Sherlock relaxed slightly. "Though a cupcake did fall on the front of it," He added thoughtfully proceeding to the kitchen to take out the food.

"Probably one of many," Sherlock replied with a laugh.

"It does look like he has gain weight," John thought.

"4 pounds to be exact," Sherlock replied popping open a container. John watched as Sherlock actually ate. John smirked and started eating his own meal. "Something funny?" Sherlock asked.

"You're eating without being prodded with a stick." John replied.

"This is actual food," Sherlock replied. "Besides, I can predict the fortune cookies," He added with a grin.

"So what have you been doing all day?" John asked curiously.

"Mrs. Hudson came up to do a little cleaning, and got quite a surprise," Sherlock replied. John laughed. "After several hours of explaining, she called me a 'sweet child' patted my head and left." He continued. "How exactly does Mrs. Hudson know a child tastes sweet?"

"It's an expression Sherlock," John replied.

"None the less, she kept stopping at the foot of the stairs to listen to me play," Sherlock continued. "Speaking of playing, my violin was tuned." He added curiously.

"S-someone mentioned that it went out of tune if it wasn't played in a while," John stammered. "I figured it would be nice for when you got back." He added.

"You never did believe I was dead," Sherlock thought out loud.

"No," John replied simply. "Anyway, I'm surprised you haven't called Lestrade asking for a case." He continued changing the subject.

"John, Lestrade is hardly going to hand me a case after what Moriarty did," Sherlock replied.

"Did Mycroft not tell you?" John asked shocked. "He and I pretty much cleared your name." He added.

"Mycroft probably just wanted to keep the Holmes name sparkling clean," Sherlock replied with a snort.

"You just don't want to admit your brother actually cares about you. He did work very hard." John explained. "However, you might want to delay taking a case because of your leg." He added.

Sherlock sighed. "I take it Mycroft told you."

"Sherlock, do give me some credit," John sighed. "I know a gunshot wound when I see one." He added. "And I can tell you pulled out your stitches." He added pointing to a dark spot on Sherlock's trousers near his knee. Sherlock swore looking down. "At least tell me you went to a hospital to get the bullet out," John sighed reaching for his medical kit.

"I am not an idiot John," Sherlock replied.

"Sometimes I wonder Sherlock," John replied popping his kit open. "Go put your pajamas and roll up the leg," He demanded pointing. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sulked to his room, leaning far too much on his cane. He returned hoisting his pant leg uncomfortably. "Sit," John said motioning to the chair. Sherlock sighed and sat down.

John set Sherlock's heel on the chair and knelt down cleaning the area before making small and tidy stitches. He looked up finding Sherlock staring pensively over his steepled fingers. "Something wrong?" John asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied, John raised an eyebrow. "Your head just happened to be in the space I was mindlessly staring."

"Right then," John sighed. "I trust you won't pull these out," He added whipping blood away and sterilizing it again. "Otherwise we'll have to do this again." He added moving to get up. "Damn," He swore his leg giving an odd jerk.

"Here," Sherlock said helping John up.

"Thanks," John said brushing him off. "Just a cramp," He added putting his weight back on it. "I'm fine," He added moving back to the kitchen to place his kit back in its place.

"Bored now," Sherlock sighed getting up, his pajama pant falling back down. He moved over the window to look out. "Has anything exciting happen while I was gone?" He asked curiously.

"Nothing you would deem exciting," John replied.

"But something exciting did happen," Sherlock said turning with a smile.

"No, you probably just laugh," John replied as he started fixing a pot of tea.

"Don't be dull," Sherlock replied flopping onto the sofa. "I promise not to laugh," He added his curiosity getting the best of him.

"I might have helped Lestrade solve a case," John murmured quickly. Sherlock's eyebrow rose.

"Do tell," He commented.

"I was just stopping by for a visit, when I noticed something on one of the case boards. I had been reading your website, so I made a comment." John awkwardly told.

"You read my website?" Sherlock asked amazed.

"Yes, I read your website," John replied with a sigh.

"Really," Sherlock commented shocked. "I thought it was 'nonsense'," He added with a ghost of a smile.

"Well the 234 tobacco ash parts is," John replied.

"244," Sherlock corrected. "You still read my website," He added with a grin.

"Please I only read it because I thought it might have clues to how you were alive," John replied. Sherlock's face fell slightly. "I did find it more interesting than I expected." He added trying to undo what he had just said.

"Did you?" Sherlock replied, John could tell the damage was done. He mentally kicked himself as he handed Sherlock a cup of tea.

"I'm sorry," John sighed sitting down. "That sounded a lot harsher then I meant it to."

"You don't need to apologize," Sherlock replied with a shrug. "I find your blog tedious and long winded." He replied. John started to laugh, his laughter was contagious and soon Sherlock was even giggling.

John's laughing end with a sigh, "I need to get some sleep." He groaned rubbing his eyes.

"You do look hideous," Sherlock replied.

"I look just as bad as you do," John said with a small laugh. "Please don't blow anything up before I wake up," He groaned getting up. Sherlock smiled slightly at the doctor's ploy to make sure he would still be here in the morning.

"I promise," Sherlock replied with a small smile.

* * *

John woke up the next morning refreshed. He rolled over, pausing for a moment. He sat up hearing nothing. _Odd, _he thought. He got up grabbing his robe. He padded down the stairs tying his robe around him. "Sherlock?"" John called out.

He honestly expected to be woken up by some odd smell, or a small explosion. "Sherlock?" He called out again moving into the living room. He stopped seeing Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, and Lestrade all sitting in his living room.

"John," Mycroft smiled. "You haven't been taking your medication," He added setting the pill bottle on the coffee table.

"I'll make some tea," Mrs. Hudson said worriedly. "And maybe some biscuits," She added with a worried look over his shoulder.

"I don't need it," John replied. "Sherlock isn't dead." He added. "He's even come back."

"John," Mycroft said tilting his head. "I think I would know if my own brother is alive."

"You do know he's alive," John shouted. "He's been taking down Moriarty's web, we've probably woke him up." He added moving over to Sherlock's door. "Sherlock," John said pulling open the door. "Sherlock?" He asked, the entire room the same as the day he had placed Sherlock's violin in it.

"No," He said he hurried to the closet to find the suit Sherlock was wearing still hanging perfectly. "No," He shook.

"John," Mycroft said from the door way. John looked up to see two men in white shirts flanking him.

"No," John replied. "I am not crazy," He stated trying to remain calm. "Sherlock is alive, I was just talking to him last night." He said pushing past Mycroft and into the living room.

"Then why didn't you take the medicine?" Mycroft questioned.

"I am not crazy," John spat back. "Lestrade I'm not crazy, tell him." He demanded.

"I-uh," Lestrade stuttered. He looked like he was wishing something would get him out of this room, a murder, aliens, anything.

"I'm not crazy," John said spinning letting the DI breath out a sigh of relief.

"John, this is for your own good," Mycroft said with a nod to the two men.

John dodged out of the way. His military training kicked in, soon he felt like the whole flat was at war with him. Tables and bunches in the carpet tripped him as he ducked the grabs and threw some punches.

Fate was against him as Mycroft and Lestrade teamed up with the whites shirts. John ducked as a loud explosion rocked the flat. Sound of bullets being fired filled the air.

John awoke with a start. He sat up looking at his clock. _1 o'clock, _he groaned. He grabbed his robe tying it around himself. He started down the stairs rubbing his eyes; he paused by Sherlock's door. A part of him wanted to open the door to make sure Sherlock was still there, the other part was afraid that the room would be empty.

He shuffled into the kitchen, briefly looking over into the living room. His head turned again as he saw Sherlock on the couch. He stepped into the living room for a moment; Sherlock's deep breathing told him he was a sleep. He continued back into the kitchen quietly.

He flipped open the cabinet pushed aside his normal tea and reached for an old can in the back. He ran is fingers over the flowers painted delicately on the side. He opened the tin placing the right amount of loose tea in the pot he paused for a moment smelling the rose and lemon scented tea. After a moment he placed the lid back on the tin and pushed it back it cupboard.

John sighed pouring himself a cup of tea. He was about to take a sip when there was a shout from the living room. "Sherlock?" John asked placing his tea down. He stepped into the living room to see Sherlock flinching on the couch. "Sherlock?" He tried louder.

"No," Sherlock muttered. "Leave him alone," He said flailing slightly.

"Sherlock," John said trying to reach out. He quickly stepped back as Sherlock lashed out. "Sherlock," He tried again.

"No," He shouted. "John!"

"Sherlock wake up," John replied. Sherlock continued to mutter and flail, John had to fight get close. "Sherlock wake the hell up," John said shaking him. Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

"John," He said slightly relieved. He closed his eyes briefly and breathed out. "Why are you sitting on me?" He asked.

"You were having a nightmare," John replied standing up and picking up his tea. "Tea?" He offered.

"I don't dream," Sherlock replied worriedly. "Tea would be nice." He added. John was already handing it to him. He took a sip and made a face. "What is this?" He asked revolted.

"Sorry," John said moving to take it from him. Sherlock held on to it. "It's a special tea," John replied slightly embarrassed sitting down and taking a sip of his own tea.

"The one you keep in the back off the cupboard?" Sherlock asked curiously taking another sip as if he was trying to analyze it by taste. His 'professionalism' was disrupted by another face. "What do any of these ingredients have to do with soothing nightmares?" Sherlock asked. John paused for a moment; Sherlock had already deduced that he had had a nightmare as well.

"They don't," John replied.

"Then what is the point of tasting this disgusting tea?" Sherlock asked setting it aside.

"It isn't what's in it," John snapped.

"It's a who then," Sherlock smiled. John sighed, of course Sherlock would attempt to be deducing to get his mind off his night mare.

"Do you want me to tell you, or would you like to 'deduce' it?" John asked curiously. Sherlock said nothing but stood up and went to the cupboard.

He pulled out the old tin and brought it back to the coffee table. John watched as the man inspected the old painting on the sides, he popped open the lid and breathed in. Finally he set it back on the table.

"Your mother," Sherlock stated. John smiled. "You've never talked about her." He commented.

"You never asked," John replied finishing his tea.

Sherlock sat back for a moment, before looking at John. John was probably the only person he stored information about, but he realized he knew almost nothing but what he could deduce about the man. "You had nightmares as a child?" Sherlock asked.

John paused for a moment. "Don't all kids?" John asked getting up to pour himself another cup of tea. Sherlock shrugged. "I did," He confirmed. "More than your average kid," John added. "She for some odd reason always knew when I had one, every time she would be downstairs waiting with a cup of this tea. We'd talk until morning or until I got sleepy."

"She sounds nice," Sherlock commented thinking back to his cold childhood memories.

"She was," John replied with a smile.

"Your nightmares, do they get less frightening?" Sherlock asked carefully.

"Hardly," John truthfully replied. "However, knowing that someone or something is waiting for you does help." He added finishing his tea again.

"I don't understand," Sherlock commented.

"What is means is that you ever need someone to talk to, I'll be here." John replied standing up.

"I don't have dreams, or nightmares, John," Sherlock replied.

"Of course you don't Sherlock," John replied. "I'll just head to bed then," He added with a nod.

"Your mother, tell me more about her," Sherlock said stopping John from heading up the stairs. John paused with a smile returning to his chair.

"She was a very patient woman," John started. "She had to be, Harry and I weren't really easy to raise." He started.

Both men talked through the night, both keeping the others nightmares away.

* * *

**Another chapter done, hoped you enjoyed. It was probably really cheesy, but here it is. I might not continue this, just because I only have a few ideas and not enough of a storyline to write more, but who knows I could have a brain storm!**

** Reviews are always welcomed!**


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